


Hungover

by threeplusfire



Category: Hat Films - Fandom
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, for once not an AU, questionable hangover care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-23 19:18:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20196940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeplusfire/pseuds/threeplusfire
Summary: Smith always takes care of Trott when he drinks too much.





	Hungover

**Author's Note:**

> I had horrendous writer's block this summer for reasons, and Kez suggested just writing something low stakes and fun to get out of the hole. So here's a short ridiculous bit about being hungover and being taken care of inspired by recent vlogs in LA. I haven't written anything that wasn't a seriously AU fic in years? So I hope this is enjoyable.

Trott woke up in a dark room with a jerk, his brain convinced he was falling. For a few minutes, he breathed through his nose and tried to orient himself around the pounding, swirling ache in his head. He felt sore, like he’d done two hundred crunches without stopping. The taste in his mouth was sour and sharp.

He was on top of the duvet, the air conditioning of the room raising goosebumps on his arms. His clothes stank, the whiff of vomit making him wince. There was a hazy memory of the bar, snapshots of the stairs and leaning against the railing beside the table covered in half empty glasses. A bathroom, the sound of someone hammering on the door. The stark light over the sink, resting his head against the faucet because it was hard and cold. Trott could feel the bruise in the center of his forehead and wondered how long he’d stood there smushing his face into the sink trying to sober up.

He remembered the street, the noise of cars going past them. A swirl of faces, laughter, the yellowish street light. The stink of the trash can in the warm night air. That would have been where he threw up. Some of it had gotten on his clothes, and he needed to take them off. Trott rolled irritably on his side to push his face into Smith’s warm bulk. He was tucked under the covers and Trott groaned as he pawed ineffectively at the duvet. Smith needed to wake up. Usually he was nicer than this.

“Trott?” The sleepy voice was puzzled. Trott pushed at the other man again before he realized it wasn’t the right voice.

“Smith?” he croaked, feeling a momentary panic. Had he gone home with a stranger? What the fuck? 

“No, it’s me.” Mark rolled to the edge of the bed and picked up his phone. 

“Mark?” Trott repeated. His head was starting to spin, making him unsteady even laying down. He couldn’t quite tell if he was still drunk or not which was probably not a good sign. Why had he gotten so many drinks? Why were they so cheap? He rubbed his head with both hands, hoping the pressure would somehow even out and magically disappear.

“Yeah. You came back to the hotel with us, remember?”

“No.” Trott pushed himself away, feeling vaguely aggrieved and upset that it was Mark and not Smith beside him. Something was wrong. He should be backed up the hill in the rented house, not in the hotel.

“Cause it was closer, remember? And you were too fucked up, mate.” The blue glow lit up the bed, shining on the white sheets. Mark squinted owlishly without his glasses. In the other bed, Tom slept on with a face mask and ear plugs, snoring faintly. 

“I’m covered in puke,” Trott whined. He felt horrible, bitter about waking up to fend for himself. How could Smith have let him go off with Mark? 

“Yeah and whose fault is that?” Mark grumbled. “You are a nightmare when you’re drunk, you know?”

“Ugh.” Trott scooted to the edge of the bed. He still had his phone, and his wallet. His shoes were on. It made everything feel worse. Everything was gross and terrible and nothing was right. 

“I’m gonna call a car,” Trott said. He squinted at his phone. There was very little battery left.

“It’s three in the morning.” Mark sounded perturbed, as if he could not decide if he wanted to protest Trott’s leaving. “You could hardly walk your way down the street. You kept asking us to carry you.”

“Smith always does,” Trott said under his breath. Fortunately in this weird city, an Uber was never far away. He stumbled out the door and to the elevator, ignoring whatever Mark said behind him.

* * *

The driver didn’t want to take him at first, but Trott swore he was done puking and he just needed to get back to his place. It was a long, silent ride through quiet streets. Trott felt terrible and hoped he wouldn’t accidentally vomit in the back of this car. He didn’t need to be blacklisted out of the app while he was in another country. The driver put the windows down, possibly because of the way he smelled. Trott half dozed as they switchbacked their way up the hill to the rented house. The sky was dark purple blue before dawn, the street lights yellow and washed out. Trott’s head throbbed unmercifully. He gave the driver a generous tip, mumbling apologies as he climbed out of the car.

The only problem now was that he didn’t have a key on him. Trott stared at the front door, and let his head thump against it. That hurt and made him curse under his breath. He pulled out his phone and started texting.

_ Smith, I’m at the door _

_ Smith you cock get up _

_ OPEN THE DOOR _

_ Smiiiiiiiiiiiiiith _

_ Smith please _

Trott was in the midst of texting a long string of sad face emojis when the door opened. He stumbled and almost fell inside from where he was leaning against the frame.

“What the fuck, Trott?” Smith stood sleepily in shorts and a tshirt, scratching his face. “How did you get here?”

“An Uber - How could you leave me with Mark?” 

“You said you wanted to go with them and they said it was fine.” Smith shrugged as he pulled Trott inside. “Jesus, you stink.”

“I threw up.”

“Yeah, I was there.”

“Smith,” Trott whined. “I feel like shit.”

“Come on.” Smith guided him through the quiet house. It was a relief to be in familiar hands. Trott grumbled a little under his breath but submitted easily as Smith stripped off his clothes. He swiped a cool washcloth over Trott’s face and neck, cleaning off any traces of vomit. Exhausted, Trott face planted into the bed as soon as Smith declared him clean.

“Sit up.” Smith nudged his leg. He held out a glass of water and a handful of pills. “Take these, drink all that. You know the drill. Did Mark seriously not make you do anything?”

“He didn’t. I mean, I don’t remember. But I woke up like this.” While he chugged the glass of water, Smith flopped down in the rumpled sheets. Trott leaned across Smith to put the glass on the nightstand. He felt marginally better.

“Mark wouldn’t carry me either. Prick.”

“I bet he can’t.” Smith’s voice was muffled as he punched his pillow into shape. 

“Don’t let me go off with someone when I'm drunk,” Trott continued peevishly. “You’re supposed to watch out for me.”

“Even when you insist you’re completely fine?” Smith laughed.

“Am I ever fine?” Trott complained.

“Come here.” Smith patted the bed beside him. “Try to get a little sleep, it will help.”

Trott burrowed under the comforter Smith held up, tucking himself against the warm line of Smith’s body. With his head resting against Smith’s shoulder, he flung an arm and a leg across Smith’s body while Smith adjusted the covers over both of them. This felt right. It was worth that long, miserable car ride to get here, back to the person who would take care of him.

“Thanks,” Trott mumbled, already drifting off. Smith’s hand stroked comfortingly through his hair.

* * *

When he woke up the second time, the sunlight was bright through the sliding glass door. The sheer curtains didn’t do much beyond diffusing it. Trott’s head still ached, but not as bad as before. He felt better than he deserved after all that drinking. He laid there, blinking at the clear California light. Somehow it managed to look different from home. Maybe it was the air pollution, or the wind off the ocean.

Behind him, Smith snored where he lay on his back. Trott rolled over to watch him. At least the snoring wasn’t too bad today. His long lashes fluttered against his skin, his eyes moving restlessly in his sleep. Trott put a hand on Smith’s chest, feeling it rise and fall. His lips brushed the stubble on Smith’s neck, along his jaw. 

“Stop that.” Smith’s voice was thick with sleep. “You’re going to leave a mark.”

“I won’t.” He wanted to kiss Smith properly but that wasn’t happening until he got up and brushed his teeth. Trott couldn’t hear any sounds of Ross or Craig moving about. It was still early, he hoped. If it was late, someone would have come to wake them up. But maybe no one else knew he was back. 

Smith yawned and stretched. One hand lazily ruffled Trott’s hair, fingertips brushing over the back of his neck.

“Why are you so horny when you’re hungover?” Smith asked, his voice barely a whisper. Trott marveled at how quiet he could be when he wanted. 

Trott shrugged, dragging his mouth across Smith’s chest. He paused to kiss each nipple as his hand moved down Smith’s belly, finding Smith’s cock stiff in his boxers. Trott circled it with his fingers, stroking him lightly. He pressed his thumb against the underside of Smith’s head, drawing out a little gasp. Trott pushed his face into Smith’s skin, eyes closed. It helped take the edge off being awake, to sink into that warm darkness while his hand moved up and down, squeezing and pulling gently. 

Smith wrapped his arm around Trott’s neck. His breathing was ragged, the barest moans escaping from his lips. His hips moved, pressing up into Trott’s strokes with growing urgency, his heels pushing down into the mattress. Trott licked his palm, jerking faster as he felt Smith’s suppressed moans. They made him smile, his head rising and falling with Smith’s breathing. One hand rubbed Trott’s back, the other curled into his hair. 

When he finished, spilling warm come on his belly, Smith tried to pull Trott into a kiss. 

“Don’t,” Trott warned. He wiggled out of Smith’s grip. “I taste like death.”

“Trott,” Smith sighed. He adjusted himself with one hand, blinking owlishly in the light. “Come back here.”

“Can’t.” Trott shook his head and winced, regretting the motion. His hangover was still there behind his eyes. “Everyone will be up soon and I don’t want to do the walk of shame from your room to mine.”

“Fine,” Smith sighed. He flung an arm over his face, looking resigned. For a moment Trott considered just climbing back into bed with him. Forget the looks, forget whatever moment he’d have to make Ross or Craig delete from their footage. He could cuddle back up with Smith, let him go down on him and spend a little longer running from his headache. It would be a nice way to start the day.

Trott grabbed his clothes off the floor and peered into the next room. A light shone under the door of the bathroom, and he could hear Ross running the water. Trott slipped out the door and tiptoed across the house as swiftly as he could.

His own room was quiet. The curtains were drawn over the door to Craig’s room, though he could hear voices. Irrationally, he felt a surge of annoyance that Rhiannon had made it back but he’d gotten stuck in the hotel. Trott snatched clean clothes off the bed and hurried into the shower across the hall. The white bathroom was far too bright with the lights on but he didn’t feel confident enough to shower in the pitch dark in a strange house. He’d end up slipping, knock himself out and drown in an inch of water in the tub. A decidedly LA way to die, he thought morbidly. 

Thankfully the water pressure was decent and the shower had one of those rainfall showerheads. Trott leaned his forehead against the tiled wall, half out of the spray. The steam felt good, filling his lungs. The heat relaxed him. He couldn’t decide if he felt okay or not. He wasn’t feeling sick now though he wasn’t sure he was ready for food. He rinsed his mouth, spitting water against the wall. It helped a little. Brushing his teeth would help more. He found himself craving an enormous latte, full of milk and sugar and caffeine, the way he only craved something when he was hungover and exhausted.

Halfheartedly, he stroked himself and thought about Smith. After a moment he gave up. Jerking off would have to wait until he’d had some coffee and maybe some more pain killers. He thrust his face back under the water and instead thought about how gentle Smith was when he cleaned Trott’s face. Whenever Trott got too drunk to look after himself, Smith was there. It was one of the most reliable constants in his life. Trott thought maybe he needed not to take it for granted. He’d have to do something nice, nicer than a hand job, to let Smith know he appreciated it. Though he was still a bit salty about Mark. Maybe when he saw whatever footage Ross and Craig had, he’d figure out what happened there.

Someone knocked on the door while he was soaping himself, daydreaming about being able to spend the day in bed with Smith bringing him juice and rubbing his back. 

“Showering!” Trott shouted, squeezing his eyes shut as his voice bounced off the walls. 

“Trott?” Craig’s voice was curious.

“I’ll be out in a minute!” Trott grimaced into the water and tried to prepare himself to act human for the inevitable camera. 

When he pulled open the door, a towel wrapped firmly around his waist, Craig was thoughtfully pointing the camera away. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. Trott nodded, giving permission. Behind Craig, Ross was eating a bowl of breakfast cereal with obvious glee. Trott forced himself not to roll his eyes and summoned up his on camera voice.

* * *

Before he had to leave in another car for the day's events, Trott caught Smith’s eye across the enormous patio. He jerked his head to one side, and headed into the house. A few beats later Smith heaved himself off the sofa and followed him past the kitchen into the hall.  


Trott pushed him against the wall and pulled Smith down into a kiss. It was long, maybe too aggressive with a house full of people and no chance to take it further. But his mouth tasted like coffee now, and his headache was dull enough not to stop him.

Smith laughed quietly, putting his hands on either side of Trott’s face.

“What was that for?”

“You know why.” Trott nipped his lower lip, allowing himself a moment to press their bodies together and close his eyes. He savored the sun warmed feel of Smith's body, the softness of his shirt. “See you later, sunshine.” 

When he turned away, Smith swatted at Trott’s ass. He lounged insolently against the wall, grinning as Trott flipped him off.   



End file.
